Time on Our Hands
by madgreek
Summary: House, Wilson, and Cuddy are locked in a room together. To the pass the time, they enjoy their banter and fire extinguisher.


House picked up the old tennis ball and threw it with precision against the storage room wall. It was not his ball, but it would have to do. A mild distraction while Wilson and Cuddy parroted their meaningless plans for escape back and forth, back and forth. If only he had remembered to take his extra self-prescribed dose of Vicodin, then they wouldn't be having this problem. He would've already thought of a way out.

Instead, House was misdirecting his annoyance and pain to the unfortunate yellow ball that some shmuck had probably left in here after his tussle in the dirt with Nurse Polly-Anna. Why was it that hospital storage rooms became the Petri-dish of all forbidden romances, and yet he had been forced into one at the whim of an insane twenty-year-old with a gun?

House caught the ball once more, then rubbed his temple. He had been working late, something he often avoided. But to his credit, he had planned a brilliant little charade for Cuddy involving his paper delivery man and one-hundred bucks. A pity it would have to wait. Wilson had tried to talk him out of it, and it looked like the oncologist was getting his way, for now.

House sighed. The problem wasn't the pissed off kid with the gun, the problem was the oxygen being poured into Blondie in room 8. One spark would ignite the entire floor, and anything else semi-combustible. Lucky for him, his office was at the other end of the wing.

"What's he want with a room full of meds and equipment he can't wrap his non-existent brain around? He'll stand there like some giant monkey, poking at screens until maybe, just maybe, the thought will dawn on him that he has to plug it in. And then he'll realize, hey we were telling the truth when we said we can't fix him. Not even Billy Graham could've fixed him."

Cuddy crossed her arms, and sat down against the wall, flustered. "Well, you might have said it a little nicer. I don't think calling him a deluded mama's boy had the effect you wanted. Now, not only do we have a suicidal maniac on our hands, we have a ticked off kid who wants revenge against some idiot doctor."

"Hey! Didn't your mama ever tell you name calling isn't the way to get a date? We're adults now, Cuddy. But oh yeah, you knew that, you have a child because of hospital wedlock."

"You're really going to bring Rachael into this. Thank God she's at home, safe, and no where near this hospital. Otherwise, I really would have to kill you."

"You mean, Rambo out there would."

"Alright," Wilson said. "This isn't going to get us anywhere. We need to think…rationally."

House rolled his eyes. "The voice of original ideas. Did you come up with that all by yourself?"

"At least I'm trying. You…you're sitting there like a lump, going through all the possible diagnostics of this kid when it's clear it's acute pancreatic cancer. But you think that it might be something else, that maybe he repeated himself too much. But who wouldn't when you're about to storm a hospital wing? He was nervous. You can't provide a solution to our current problem so you're going to analyze his cancer away."

"Except, his cancer did go away." House looked distantly at the tennis ball. "A man in that much pain shouldn't be able to tackle a security guard for his gun."

"Unless, euphoric endorphins are being released because the cancer had spread to his brain," Cuddy added.

"Or, he has no brain." House suddenly looked at Cuddy, eyes pensive.

"Right, because Dr. Frankenstein forgot to mention he made twins," Wilson said.

"I mean, the pain sensors in his brain aren't functioning, therefore he's not in pain. Whether he has cancer or not, what's more interesting is that he can't feel he has cancer."

"Some kind of leprosy? Maybe you're right, if it's not cancer at all…" Cuddy laughed, suddenly remembering where she was. "I feel like we're back in med-school, going through impossible scenarios on no sleep."

"Med-school was a lot more fun," House murmured. "I seem to remember a certain burnet begging me to sleep with her. What was her name?"

Cuddy shot him a glare. "Maybe she had a little too much to drink. Maybe she was upset because her real boyfriend forgot to mention that he was seeing her best friend. And maybe you were the first available alternative to her grief stricken heart."

"I'd buy that if she had a heart," House said.

"Wait a minute, you two slept together?" Wilson asked, shocked.

House tossed the ball against the wall. "Oops."

"It was one night, not like we were dating, and I sincerely regretted it," Cuddy said.

"That's why you stormed out of my apartment the next morning when I wasn't around. You were angry because you wanted more." House waited eagerly for her reply. They had never fully discussed that night, not that he wanted to. But for the sake of pure curiosity…

"How did you know I stormed out unless you _were_ nearby?"

House looked at Cuddy, a playful smile on her lips. Wilson was finding this very interesting, his two best friends literally cornered into confession. He leaned against the wall as if he were watching a Soap, House's Soap. Fitting.

"Oh, you caught me. I was scared of what might happen to our friendship. Instead of bringing you breakfast in bed, I ate a hotdog across the street, watching for the moment you left." In his best teenage voice, House added, "I just didn't know what to do."

"You didn't, did you?" Wilson said. "You were scared then, as scared as you are now to ask her out."

Cuddy's eyes brightened. "You want to ask me out?"

"I prefer women who want to _use_ whip-cream, not drive a man insane by her constant whip-cracking," House said.

Cuddy chuckled. As much as he infuriated her, he equally knew how to make her laugh. "In any case, what are we going to do about the guy with the gun?"

"We don't do anything," House said.

"I vote that we bang on this door until he comes. Then one of us says we need to use the bathroom. I'm pretty sure I can take him," Wilson said.

"Not if he has an unusual amount of adrenaline pumping through his rotting veins. If there's a chance something is screwing with the chemistry in his brain, there's no telling what else is off. He didn't take down that security guard by sheer will-power."

"So we should just sit here until the police figure out there's a madman running around the hospital? That could take days. What about the patients who need immediate attention?" Cuddy asked.

House pulled himself up on the shelves next to him, and inspected the door lock again. "You're not thinking about the patients, you're thinking about that slobbering blubber at home who needs her mommy."

"Actually, I'm thinking about both. It is possible to do both."

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" House leaned down so that he was eye-level with the doorknob.

Wilson shook his head. "There's a deadbolt, remember?"

"Repetition signals there's misfiring going on in Junior's noggin. Leprosy explains the nerve damage, but it doesn't explain how everything else up there is moving at the speed of Cuddy's drooping ass."

"Remind me when we get out of here to supply every storage room with emergency food." Cuddy looked at her watch, sighing. "It's almost 7; I've got a meeting I need to prep for tomorrow morning. Not to mention, Rachael hasn't seen me since yesterday morning."

"She probably hasn't seen you at all," House said, turning toward the back of the room. He began rummaging through the junk that was piled against the wall. "A baby's eyes aren't fully developed until 8 weeks. Right now, you're just one giant blob."

"But a beautiful blob," Wilson added.

Cuddy smiled. "Thanks."

"Suck up." House pushed over a stack of papers, scattering them all over the floor.

"Hey!" Cuddy was growing annoyed. "House, if you're bored could you please try doing something else to occupy your time?"

"Nope. Already tried that. You made me feel so used."

"You know, House, one might suggest that your avoiding Cuddy, your endless pranks, and teasing, well…how does it work again in grade school?" Wilson asked.

"I steal your teddy-bear, and you cry because daddy never told you that's what friends do, they annoy each other." House picked up a pile of scrubs and threw them on Cuddy.

"No, that's what two-year-olds do when they can't express what they're feeling," Wilson said. "Your inability to express what's going on in that twisted heart of yours is manifested in your childish and often hurtful behavior towards those you're closest to."

"Remind me to never get locked in a room with _you_ again."

"What are you looking for?" Cuddy asked.

"This…" House stood triumphantly with a fire extinguisher in hand.

"Oh, no you don't," Cuddy said. "I'm in no mood to replace a door that an idiot with too much time on his hands destroyed."

"It's better than Wilson's potty time idea. At least we'll be out for sure."

Wilson raised his hands in protest. "And we'll probably get shot in the process. You can't exactly run for the exit."

"I can if I push you over first. What does that tell you about our friendship now?"

"It's too risky," Cuddy said.

House thought for a moment. He wasn't one for acts of heroism, but when it came to Wilson and Cuddy, he might go out on a limb, as mangled as that limb might be. "You two hide, maybe we can make it look like you already got away. I'll distract him, and then when it's clear, head for the fire escape."

Cuddy felt a twinge of admiration, as she did in other times when House managed to surprise her. It wasn't often but when it happened, it reminded her why she felt the way she did toward him.

"No way," Wilson said. "It's crazy. You could get killed."

"_He's_ crazy," House said, pointing to the outside. "And you're a coward."

"Wait a minute, you didn't want me trying to apprehend him myself. But now that I won't let you, you're calling me a coward? I think you want to look like the hero. But you have no intention of doing anything. Why is that?"

"I think you have your penis confused with your ability to analyze everyone." House raised his voice. "I'm doing it because I want to get out of here!"

"Alright, you two. Sit down, both you of you. No one's going to do anything. Not yet. Let's give the police a couple of more hours. I don't want to have to mop your blood up off the floor." Cuddy frowned. "Not today, anyway."

A frustrated House set the fire extinguisher down, and took his seat again next to Cuddy. He found the old tennis ball on the floor, and picking it up, began tossing it against the wall. His leg was hurting more acutely, but he only had one pill left. Better save it. Cuddy laid her hand on his shoulder, and squeezed it gently. He paused at the gesture. Why had he walked out that morning, and left her alone? Wilson was right. He _was_ afraid, but not of her. He was afraid of what he'd do to her. In the long run, he was after all just an ass. Or was he just afraid?

Wilson slumped against the wall, exhausted. It had been too long of a day. The three of them were an odd trio, but with deep satisfaction, he knew they were friends. And perhaps, one day, the two sitting across from him would be something more if House could ever move past his suffering. That would be a good day.

Suddenly, like a splash of cold water to the face, a gun shot echoed in the hall. Then another. The three prisoners waited for the sound of oxygen exploding but it never came. Voices filtered down the corridor, men shouting orders. The three of them sighed in relief. House knew he would be collecting his latest diagnostic from off the floor. But he didn't mind. It would prove an extra challenge.

Laboring to his feet, he remembered his cane was somewhere down in the lobby. "Let's do it again sometime." Without thinking, he offered his hand to Cuddy who rather surprised took it. Then helping her up, he studied her green eyes before looking away. Their fingers lingered, interlocked, before dropping once more to their solitude.

A gruff voice from outside the door ordered them to step back. Wilson took his place next to House. Just another day.


End file.
